


As Milady Commands

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, But Jon is still a bastard, Cousin Incest, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, R plus L equals J, Seduction, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, whatever it is called when you have sex in a holy place (Like I dunno a sept for instance...)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:33:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12884037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: “Milday,” he murmured against her lips and she shivered against him. He nudged his hips against her, his hands traveling up to settle under the curves of her breasts. “I shouldn’t…”“What?” she replied in confusion, frowning up at him but Jon remains in his act.“It is …forbidden,” he continued, the last word husky and low on his tongue and Sansa whimpered in response, feeling her body come to life. “But I want to touch you…milday. God, I want to touch you, I want you to want me to touch you!”And she wants him to, gods she wants him to so much!(Or when Jon thinks Sansa is just resigning herself to marrying him out of duty and blurts out a reminder of his bastard status, he decides to turn her insult into a game of seduction).Day 6 Jonsa smut week: Forbidden





	As Milady Commands

**Author's Note:**

> I....I don't even know lol.
> 
> P.S. I just thought as I posted this that Jon seducing her in the sept could be interpreted as a 'fuck you Catelyn' drive. This wasn't what I intended as I like Catelyn tbh. I was merely going with the fact Jon gives zero fucks (he he well he gives one fuck in the sept it seems) about the Seven and just doesn't like how they are a southern thing (and used for southern weddings *cough*). But if you want to see it as darker resurrected Jon going a bit passive aggressive to Catelyn's ghost then you just make yourselves happy and think that way lol
> 
> also I dunno why but I always seem to have Jon falling and realising his feelings for Sansa way before her and making him all angst ridden. Sorry Jon, I love you really! You get all the good stuff in the end!

It had been on her mind for days, always on the tip of her tongue as Jon sits beside her listening to the bannermen’s issues. She admired Jon’s commitment to their people, to Winterfell and the North. Ever since the defeat of the White Walkers, since he had returned from beyond the wall and had his parentage revealed, he has gone to great lengths to please the Northern Lords, putting them above the requests of his Aunt in the south in order to demonstrate his loyalty.

He was still a bastard on official record but following his show of devotion to the North and with Sansa’s express wish, he had remained the named King in the North. She didn’t know how he had convinced his Aunt to let him take her biggest kingdom, decided she would rather not think of it for each reason seemed more devastating than the rest.

It shouldn’t matter, not really. But the fact that her mother’s sept remained in ruins bothered her greatly and she wanted to see something done about it. It wasn’t about worship really for the Seven had never cared for her while she had been a prisoner in Kings Landing or with Petyr and Harry in the Vale. She had been made to endure, made to take the beatings, to give kisses and lie with her lord husband panting obscenely above her. But it was a part of her history, it had meant something to her mother and a part of Sansa wanted it restored for no other reason than to feel close to her mother in some way.

“Jon.”

He turned to her as she speaks at the end of the meeting.

“Are you alright?” he asked, noticing the nervousness in her voice when she spoke. She nods, giving him a small smile of reassurance.

“Yes,” she said softly. “But I have a request, if I may?”

“Of course,” he replied, brows furrowing slightly. “You don’t need permission to speak with me Sansa you’re my … my cousin.”

She noticed the hesitation in the words, thinks of how he struggled with realising he hadn’t been Ned Stark’s son at all and had to realise that she was not his sister either. She never tells him that she had never thought much of the change, never says how easily she had tossed the label of brother aside.

“I would like for mother’s sept to be rebuilt,” she said eventually, watching him frown.

She knows he won’t refuse her outright but that he might question the priority. After all, septs are not a Northern tradition and she can understand that after everything the North has been through that Jon and the Lords would want to prioritise funds, resources and time on issues that directly affect the North first. Still, as she sees his lips parting to answer, she continues, hoping to appeal to his familial nature.

“It is important to me, a part of my history and perhaps my future,” she added. It could be, if Daenerys asks Sansa to marry a Southern Lord to tie the North and South together, would Jon be able to refuse her? She likes to think that he would but she feels that she knows so little of Jon now, that he has withdrawn from her except in the meetings. And even now, Jon is still silent as he almost always seems to be around her these days, his lips pulling into his mouth in a slight grimace as he thinks about it. She clutched at the last point of her argument.

“It would make me feel close to her,” she whispered. Jon’s eyes flashed slightly, brow furrowing before he can stop himself.

It was perhaps cruel in a way, to remind him of the fact she had had a loving mother, one she could remember well enough and tell stories of when he had no such thing. Perhaps it was cruel to even bring up Catelyn in any sense and remind him that he was not welcome to her. But Jon would not refuse her on these grounds, no matter his personal feelings of Catelyn Stark.

“I will look into it,” he replied gruffly before turning from her without a goodbye.

***

It is several days later when he comes to her in the ruined sept. It feels longer to her, seems like weeks and moons have passed since she last saw him, let alone spoke with him.

“I have received a raven from Daenerys.”

His voice carries across the air to where she stands at the altar. She says nothing, eyes fixed on the mask of the mother as she lights a candle and places it in the holder in front of it. She hears him sigh and then his soft footsteps approach, almost shyly, as though he thinks the Gods are judging him, his faithlessness to them causing him to feel like he shouldn’t be here, he should be forbidden from such a place.

“She wants me to marry,” he whispered as he stands beside her.

Sansa blinked at the words, automatically turning to look at him over her shoulder in surprise. She had never thought Daenerys would go for tying Jon down first, assumed she would go for her, the eldest living true-born Stark and Lady of Winterfell. Rickon was never going to return from Skagos, he was too wild to ever be a Lord now. Why would she want to marry off Sansa Stark’s bastard cousin?

“Is that all I am to you?” he snapped suddenly, his nostrils flaring and Sansa flushed at the fact that she had spoken the question aloud.

“I didn’t mean,” she started to protest but he moved so suddenly, pressing her back against the alter, his arms snaking under her own to hold the edge, effectively trapping her.

“Would it bother you at all?” he asked, his breath caressing her cheeks as his eyes bore into hers, searching for something. She blinked, unsure of what to say and he continues. “Would it bother you at all if I were to marry some southern woman, if I were to lie with her, have children with her?”

Sansa’s lips parted but she said nothing as her mind reeled. Would it bother her? It had bothered her to think that he might have lain with Daenerys before. But she reasoned that it wasn’t Daenerys herself she had issue with really. She is merely still bitter about the secrets and the fact she was never consulted about things that affected her or the North and to think Jon would still lie with the woman despite that hurt her.

“You can do what you like Jon,” she replied simply.

“She wants me to marry you,” he whispered softly, fingers tracing her chin and turning her face back to look at him.

“Me?” she replied in surprise.

“You,” he repeated sternly. “But if I am just a bastard to you then I am not worthy to marry Lady Stark, much less a Queen.”

“I’m not a Queen,” she argued, her traitorous eyes dropping to his lips and she is overcome with the sudden urge to kiss him. The thought has her frowning in confusion and shame.

“You are my Queen,” he replied gruffly. “In all things that matter, you are my Queen.”

“And I am to be your wife too?” she asked, tongue swiping her lips and her mouth suddenly feels dry as she watches his eyes drop to trace the movement.

“Aye,” he replied, his throat bobbing thickly as he continued to stare at her lips. His eyes lift suddenly, the grey almost swallowed by his pupils. His assertiveness dissipates a little when she meets his eyes, her unspoken question lying between them until he continues. “I would like you to be my wife.”

“Then I shall do my duty,” she said with a simple shrug.

He blinked, brow furrowing as he rears back to look at her. It was hardly a ringing endorsement or a declaration of love but it was consent none the less. Wasn’t that all that was needed from her for a marriage? It was all that had ever been needed from her before. But the longer the silence stretches between them, the more stupid she feels for being so practical in her reply.

“We will do our duty,” he echoed dully. He sighed, long and deep and removes himself from her body. His hand runs through his curls, leaving it untidier than ever. He almost glares at her, his head shaking slightly before he turns and storms out of the sept, leaving Sansa gripping the alter, a deep breath escaping and her eyes closing as she tried to make sense of what happened.

***

Jon said nothing at dinner, doesn’t even look at her as she sits beside him. The only acknowledgment he gives of her presence was the clenched fist on the table as her hand reaches for her knife beside it. She glances at him every so often, teeth biting into her lip as she tries to think of how to apologise, how to reassure him that while it _is_ a practical match, she would not mind being married to him really. He was kind and brave and strong. She reached out, fingers tracing his knuckles in a tender gesture of silent apology. The hand jerked under her touch and he finally looked at her, eyes like steel that left her breath trapped in her throat.

“I don’t mind marrying you,” she said softly, after a moment, feeling the need to break the silence. She thought he would want reassurance, that he needed to know she wasn’t begrudging him for what his Aunt demanded.

His eyes continued to watch her for a few seconds before he gave the briefest of nods and removed his hand from hers, crossing his arm across the table so that she cannot reach for it again. She let her own fall into her lap and sighed. This was hardly a good start.

“I am sorry,” she continued, staring at him as his jaw tenses, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I am sorry if I insulted you before. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He huffed, the fork clattering on the plate and he looks at her again. She stares at him intently as though she could find some answer to his sullenness there. But then Jon’s eyes closed slowly and he gave a harsh exhale through his nose before he turned away from her again, returning to his meal.

***

She paused in the doorway, blinking at the sight of Jon sitting in her chambers at the table in front of the fire. He wasn’t wearing his finer clothes, the ones he wore since becoming King in the North, it actually looks like he is wearing his older clothes, the ones he wore when he had simply been Ned Stark’s bastard. His hand is curled loosely around a cup, the other lying idly on his thigh as he looks into the fire.

“Jon?” she questioned, closing the door. He lifted the cup, draining the liquid and setting it down with a dull thud.

“Sansa,” he replied as he looks over to her and stands.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked. “Is there something important to discuss?”

“Is there something…? Yes, of course there is!” he snapped, followed with a low mirthless chuckle. His hand came up to rub his beard as he watched her. “We are to be wed Sansa. And while you have been raised to be a perfect little lady who is disgusted at the thought of a bastard touching her, I assure you that I would make it good for you.”

“I…” she began, cheeks flushing at the implication of him touching her, claiming her on their wedding night. “I didn’t…”

“You did,” he interrupted. “You reminded me of my status in the sept and you didn’t even think of how that would make me feel!”

“I’m sorry,” she replied softly, her pulse racing as he stalks towards her. But she doesn’t move, her body flush against the door.

“Are you?” he whispered as he came up in front of her. His hand reached up to cup her cheek gently before his lips twitched, his eyes dark as they fall on her own. “Or do you like it?” he continued, voice husky and sending a shiver down her spine.

“Like what?” she questioned, feeling her heart beginning to race.

“The thought of a bastard between your legs,” he said simply and Sansa gasped, cheeks flushing at his words. “I think that you like the fact that a bastard shouldn’t touch a lady, is forbidden to touch a lady in such a way but you want me to all the same.”

“No,” she denied even as her breath hitched. Jon smirked, pressing a small kiss to her lips.

“Of course, you don’t,” he replied lightly as he backed away. “Goodnight…milady.”

***

The image wouldn’t leave her mind.

She knows little about sex really but that doesn’t stop her mind from wandering, to conjuring images of Jon touching her, teasing her. And then his words echo in her head, filling her with shame. He is a bastard, a high-born bastard but a bastard all the same. Bastards shouldn’t touch high-born ladies, shouldn’t whisper filth in their ears or try to seduce them. And high-born ladies shouldn’t let them. It was a rule of the world.

It was wrong, so very wrong. She shouldn’t be thinking of him this way, shouldn’t feel such desire, shouldn’t crave him.

But she does, she does, she _does._

She isn’t sure what he planned to do at first. But he begins calling her ‘milady’ instead of ‘my lady’, like a low-born bastard would. It is a subtle change but it is the first sign she should have noticed in his game. He stopped wearing his crown or his finer clothes, whenever they are alone in his solar, discussing matters, another thing she failed to notice at first.

And there are little touches that he bestows upon her, each more daring than the next in her eyes though he has made them look perfectly innocent to any audience. An accidental brush of her hand as he picks up his cutlery at mealtimes, a chaste, platonic kiss to the back of her hand as he bid her goodnight, an awkward meeting in a small gap that has him pressing against her as he passed, hands skimming her hip, her waist as he murmured his sincere apologies. And when he doesn’t brush her hand or isn’t near enough to touch her at all, she is surprised by how much she wanted him to be.

And then, after days of his teasing he pulled her into an alcove one day as she was passing. She blinked up at him as he pressed himself against her with his hands settled firmly on her hips. And then his mouth is slotting on hers, tongue parting her lips until she moans, her body sags against the wall. Jon groans before he pulls away.

“Milday,” he murmured against her lips and she shivered against him. He nudged his hips against her, his hands traveling up to settle under the curves of her breasts. “I shouldn’t…”

“What?” she replied in confusion, frowning up at him but Jon remains in his act.

“It is …forbidden,” he continued, the last word husky and low on his tongue and Sansa whimpered in response, feeling her body come to life. “But I want to touch you…milday. God, I want to touch you, I want you to _want_ me to touch you!”

And she wants him to, gods she wants him to so much!

“Please!”

“We shouldn’t,” he repeated even as his fingers skim past the sides of her breasts, trail to the front of her dress to the ties that hold her bodice to her.

“Please! Please, touch me!” she cried, her heart pounding in her chest. And Jon’s lips twitched in response.

His fingers pull the laces of her dress, hands drifting under the material to shove it apart and reveal her breasts to him, the sleeves trapping her arms. He moves suddenly, a hand coming to hold her hip as he turns her around, pressing her back to his front. The other hand gently cups her right breast, thumb tracing the nipple.

“Oh!” she breathed, surprised at the pleasure. She was no maiden but she had never been touched like this, had never been seduced like this.

“You like that?” he whispered, nipping her ear as his finger joins his thumb to give her bud a firm pinch that has her gasping, squirming against him. “Do you like me touching you Sansa?”

“Yes,” she babbled. “Yes!”

His other hand moves from her hip as he nudges her against the wall. His hands cover her breasts, rubbing, pinching, squeezing her until she is whimpering, hips moving back to meet his. He grinds against her, his hardness straining against his breeches and rubbing against her back side.

“Gods,” Jon moaned. “I want you so much Sansa!”

“I…I…” she started, her sentence cut off with a low moan as he gives her nipples a particularly sharp pinch that had her back arching. She shivered against him, head falling back against his shoulder, her hooded eyes seeking out his face. His eyes are dark, lips parted as he watches her reaction to his touch.

But then there is a shuffling outside, footsteps approaching and Jon withdraws so suddenly she gasps, the sound covered by his hand as he places it to her mouth. His lips are at her temple, a soft kiss placed there and then he retreats.

“Milady, I have been improper,” he said gently, giving her a small bow. “I swear it won’t happen again. I’ll mind my place.”

He disappears with a simple swish of the curtain and Sansa blinks after him before she shakes herself. Her nipples are red and hard, the tingling sensation of his touch still travelling through her as she pulls her dress back up and ties up her laces.

Her face is flushed, her cheeks on fire and her heart racing. And, she notes with fascination, there is a strange, wet sensation between her legs.

***

He did not come to her again for another two nights.

She is sewing by the fire when she hears the soft knock at the door. Brienne is standing guard but Sansa does not hear her say anything. The only person who could send Brienne away, who she would allow without question would be Jon.

Her hands suddenly feel sweaty as she sets the dress aside and another knock comes. She inhaled deeply as she approached the door, fingers shaking as she pulls the handle to open it and is met with Jon’s intense gaze, the breath leaving her lungs.

She opened her mouth to greet him but his hand curls in her hair, pulling her to his mouth with a groan. He steps forward, making her step back and she vaguely registered the sound of the door slamming shut with his foot.

“Milady,” he whispered against her lips before he takes them again and Sansa curls her arms around his neck, using him to steady her before she collapses.

“I want you,” he murmured as he broke away. “I have wanted you for so long.”

She frowned, unsure why he was still playing a role like this. But before she could question it, he was kissing her again, his tongue caressing all corners of her mouth and she knows her lips are swollen when he parts as her body trembled in his arms. Never has anyone kissed her like that, with such passion.

“Can I touch you again?” he asked gently and Sansa bit her lip.

“Yes,” she whispered after a moment.

Jon’s hands landed on her hips, guiding her backwards until her thighs hit the edge of the bed and she falls to a seating position from the force.  He slots his mouth to hers again as his left hand pulls the laces of her night gown, pushing the material to the side. He pulled away from her mouth, grinning as his hands move to cup her breasts.

Her fingers dig into the sheets as he begins teasing her buds again, like he had in the alcove and it doesn’t take long for the pleasure to shoot straight to her core, her hips wriggling as her body tried to tell him what she needs.

A high-pitched keen escaped her lips as his lips close over her right nipple and he gives a long suck. Her hands fall back behind her and it gave her leverage to push her body, push her teat further into his warm, wet mouth. His other hand is still toying with her other bud and she pants as she feels unfamiliar pleasure running through her.

She was so distracted with his attention to her breasts that she did not realise he had pulled her gown up until she felt the cold air hitting her sex through her small clothes. Her eyes found his and he raised an eyebrow, a silent request of permission for him to continue. Sansa bit her lip, knowing she should stop him but her curiosity, her desire was greater than her shame and she nodded her agreement.

His fingers are feather light against her thigh as he traced up to the hem of her small clothes. Her breath caught in her throat as she feels his first and middle finger slip beneath the material to brush along the curls there. His eyes watched her face the entire time and it made Sansa flush, turning her face away as his fingers started moving down, parting and running up and down the shape of her outer lips.

His eyes never leave her face as his fingers glided through her folds, that strange, wet sensation returning to her. His gaze is intense as he finds a certain spot that has her jerking her hips and, to her horrified shame, legs spreading further. He rubbed the spot in gentle, teasing circles, eyes never leaving her as she feels something building within her.

She was panting on the bed having collapsed backwards at the intense feelings travelling from where his fingers are rubbing and pressing insistently. She began to feel a strange sensation in her stomach as her muscles began to clench, her thighs trembled and Jon has to hold her thigh with his free hand to prevent her shutting them as she fought against the feelings building within her.

“Its alright. Let your bastard boy make you feel good milady,” Jon murmured, still watching her intently as her lips parted, eyes fluttering shut. She groaned as she felt her entire body tense, pleasure coursing from her head to her toes, which curled against the cool stone floor.

“I…what happened?” she gulped when she came back to her senses. Jon’s hand has gone now but he was still watching her.

“The bastard made the lady cum,” he replied with a grin and Sansa blinked in confusion. “It is what happens at the end of sexual activities, if it is done right then the lady can feel that pleasure.”

“Oh,” she stated dumbly. She hadn’t ever heard of such a thing. Were women supposed to experience it, even if it were possible (and it clearly was given what just happened, her mind assured her) for it felt rather taboo to her.

“I promised you I would make you feel good,” he said after a moment as he pushed himself off of the bed and made for the door.

***

The game continued for several more days.

He touches her in the armory, the library and once, teased her under the table one suppertime. Nothing that made her react too obviously but enough of a tease, a promise of what he wanted that she felt herself grow wet and hot all the same.

And then, one night his fingers are replaced by his tongue.

She keened and moaned, shivered beneath him as his tongue swiped through her, his hands holding her legs firmly apart as he devours her. Again and again and again, she fell apart under his assault and at one point she feared she would never be able to speak again for how loud and often she cried out.

And when he kissed her, spreading her juices over her tongue and lips she felt herself flush at the groan that escaped her.

“Did milady like her bastard boy between her legs?” he asked as he started playing with her nipples, smirking as her head tossed on the pillow, gasping in shock as her body responded, ready for more still.

And he would whisper how she was so pretty and filthy, such a good girl to cum so often for her bastard boy, from his bastard fingers and his bastard mouth. The reminder of their status only drove her wilder with need, the fact that if he wasn’t a nephew to Daenerys and Eddard Stark, if he hadn’t been named King in the North, he would have his head on a spike for touching the Lady of Winterfell like this. But he deliberately never had any clothing or item on him that tied him to his blood relatives when he played this game. He intended and wanted her to crave the forbidden nature of it all, wanted her to desire the forbidden touches and kisses that left her aching and desperate as though she truly was being seduced by a low-born bastard.

One night, he sat her on his lap, legs over his own so that when he moved them her legs spread open to allow his touch. He whispered how wet she was as he rubbed and stoked and flicked at her nub of pleasure. He held her steady, as she fell into her third climax, her hands digging into his thighs as she fell back against his chest, panting harshly and hips jerking helplessly.

“Fuck me,” she moaned suddenly.

And he did, _oh,_ he _did!_

He picked her up and carried her to the bed. He climbed over her and she watched him grip his cock to guide it inside of her. A groan escaped her as she felt the stretch. It had been a long time since Harry and Jon was bigger, fuller. He gave a moan as he sank into her completely and for a moment, he was completely still. And then he started to roll his hips in fast, hard circles that pressed his navel against her bundle of nerves. Her hands reached for his shoulders as he sets a hard pace, pushing deep into her each time and leaving her moaning beneath him. He hiked her legs up suddenly and she flushed at the wanton whine that escaped her as he pumped into her, the sound of their skin slapping against each other, the slick sound of her arousal filled her ears and she moaned again.

Part of her wished she had known there could be such pleasure from a man’s touch, from the marriage bed. But another part of her thinks that perhaps it is just Jon and that makes her heart flutter slightly, that he would take the time to seduce her and make her willingly come to and engage in their marriage bed when the time comes for their wedding.

***

A raven arrives from Myranda the next morning, telling her that she had been to the capital recently and spoken with Willas Tyrell and _‘hadn’t you wanted to marry him once? If I had known how handsome he was, I would have tried my luck myself! He is still unmarried by the way…’_

She had laughed, both at her younger, naïve dreams and at Myranda being her usual blunt self. She had left the letter on the desk without much thought but when Jon glared at her as she entered the hall at dinner, she knew he had seen it.

She was aware of his eyes on her as she went to the sept the next morning. And she was not surprised to hear him enter after her. But she did not expect him to grasp her gently as she reached the alter. She shivered as he kissed her, gasped as he turned her around and pressed himself against her back. Her hand grasped the alter as his hands gripped at her skirts, hoisting them up to her waist. She gasped, turning her head and watching him with wide eyes. Surely, he wouldn’t …not here in the Sept. To engage in sexual acts in such a sacred place, surely it was forbidden, a taboo.

“Jon…not here…the Gods…” she started but trailed off her defensive rant. For if the Seven had ever existed, if they had ever been watching her all this time, why hadn’t they helped her?

“They are not your Gods,” he countered as he pushed her small clothes down her thighs. “You’re a Stark, you are of the North. And they are not a Northern bastard’s Gods either.”

“But…” she started again, because while she may not quite believe in her mother’s Gods anymore, this still seemed too wrong. Although, she was shocked at how the thought the wrongness of it, the forbidden nature of it all, was making her pulse race, her breath escaping in a harsh exhale.

“Oh,” she gasped as his fingers traced the shape of her sex, running through her folds in fluid movements aided by her gathering wetness. Her cheeks flushed at her reaction. He moved closer, pressing his breeches to her bare backside and her cheeks flamed further as she felt his hardness there.

“You used to fantasise about pretty southern lords,” Jon said suddenly, breath ghosting her ear and his first finger slid down to her entrance, pushing in with no resistance. “Is that why you want to rebuild this? So, you can marry a southerner?”

“No!” she gasped as he moved his finger, curling it deep inside of her that left her reaching out and grasping the edge of the alter.

“Your bastard cousin isn’t good enough for you, is he?” he continued. “But would a pretty southern lord touch you like this sweetling?”

“No,” she moaned her teeth biting into her lip as he added a second finger. Harry had never touched her intimately other than when he was shoving his cock inside of her.

“You like my bastard fingers, don’t you?” he asked, pushing a third finger inside of her.

Sansa collapsed forward, her arm bracing against the cool surface of the alter and her forehead falling against it, her hips pushing down to get his fingers deeper, keening at how full she felt and how it was all leading up to his cock being inside of her. She shivered at the thought, gasping as he paused his movements and she remembered he had asked her a question.

“Yes,” she whispered, whimpering as his fingers started pumping into her again.

“Do you know how many times I have thought of you and this sweet, hot cunt?”

“Jon,” she gasped, cheeks flushing at his words and she throbbed around his fingers. She felt Jon’s grin against her neck.

“Do you like that?” he murmured. “Do you like me saying ‘cunt’?”

She wailed, shaking her head in defiance even as her hips unconsciously pushed towards him, pushing his fingers deeper inside of her. She groaned, her face heating up at her reaction, at the fact that she still wasn’t satisfied. She wanted more, more, _more_!

“Not very lady-like,” he commented lightly. “A proper lady wouldn’t get this wet from a bastard’s fingers, would she?”

“No,” she whimpered, feeling the beginning flutters in her stomach, her hips pushing down harder, her muscles beginning to tighten.

“I used to think about much I wanted to fuck you like a wolf. Would you let me Sansa?” he murmured and Sansa gasped, struck dumb by how much she wanted him to take her like that. Oh, if Septa Mordane had heard such words from Jon, had seen how much Sansa craved him to act upon his filthy words, she feared she would be locked in her rooms until she remembered to be a proper lady.

“Yes,” she moaned, trembling as his thumb started circling her bundle of nerves. “Yes, you can…Jon…Jon!”

He waited for her climax to wash over her before his hand moved to unlace his breeches. She felt boneless from the pleasure, barely able to co-operate as he pulled at her hips, guiding her into the position so she was bared to him. She unconsciously licked her lips at the thought of him pushing into her, shocked at how badly she wanted to have him inside of her.

She gasped at the feel of his tongue against her, hips jerking in surprise until he placed a hand on her hip to steady her. She turned her head, trying to see him and ask him what he was doing but her question died in her throat as his tongue pushed inside of her. Her cheeks flushed darker, a shiver running through her and a surge of wetness rushing through her sex that had Jon groaning happily. She turned back to the alter and bit into her arm, her whole face heating up at the thought of how wanton she was feeling. Jon had her craving more, had her desperately needing his touch, his mouth and his cock.

His tongue retreated and she rested her forehead against her arm as she tried to compose herself, trying to gain some sort of propriety. But then his cock was sliding through her folds, gathering her wetness and then hovering at her entrance, barely breeching.

“Do you want this?” he asked breathlessly, teasingly sliding his cock through her folds again. “Do you want _me?”_

She was too aroused to take note of the change in his tone, the slight vulnerability that should have told her that it wasn’t the bastard asking the last question but Jon. She nodded, her words coming out in a pant.

“I want this!”

She felt him exhale on her shoulder, an almost sad sound but before she can question him, his cock is back settling at her entrance and slowly pushing in.

“Oh!” she gasped, the sound trailing into a low moan.

It was a different feeling from what she was used to, different from a man being on top and her on her back. But she liked it, she concluded. Liked the angle, the way he braced himself above her and, the baser part of her loved the dirtiness of it all.

A lady shouldn’t like to be taken this way!

Jon chuckled lowly.

“Southern ladies perhaps, but wolf maidens should enjoy being fucked like this,” he muttered and Sansa jerked her head up in embarrassment at the fact she had spoken aloud. “And you will love it,” he promised as he started to move.

She groaned as he teased her with deliberately slow thrusts, withdrawing almost all the way out until she was pushing her hips back to desperately chase him, only for him to push back deep inside of her in a way that left her gasping each time. His hands held her hips possessively, although his thumb was tracing the shape of her hipbone lovingly as he guided her movements.

“Fuck, you feel so good Sansa,” he moaned softly.

He started to move faster, the sound of skin on skin filling the air and Sansa flushed as her eyes glanced at the mask of the mother, feeling as though they were being judged. She whimpered, eyes clenching shut as she felt her stomach flutter again, her legs shaking as his fingers return to that bundle of nerves.

“That’s it Sansa,” he whispered, as she began to tighten around him. “Cum on my bastard cock.”

She wailed, her body collapsing forward as it tensed fingers digging into the edge of the alter until her knuckles turned white. She groaned helplessly as she came down, teeth digging into her lip as she realised he still wasn’t done. His hips were moving slower now and he kept his fingers on her. She twitched, feeling sensitive and he retreated slightly, raising his hand instead to the top of her dress. He dipped his hand beneath the material, finger seeking out her nipple and rubbing in small, tight circles and she gasped, moaning as she realised from the slight wetness of his fingertip that he was touching her with the finger that had just been playing with her below.

She keened as his finger returns to her sex, guiding her into another climax so intense that she collapses forward on the alter in a boneless heap, cringing as her nipples brush the cool surface. Jon shuddered behind her, his fingers grasped her hips tighter as he pushed deep inside of her and released.

And then he changed.

The dominance was gone, he doesn’t say filthy words about her teats or her cunt, doesn’t praise her compliance. She felt him kiss her temple, an almost desperate push of his lips against her skin and she frowned as she felt a slight wetness at the crown of her hair where his cheek rested.

“Jon?” she questioned.

She felt him shudder, heard a dull sniff as he moved off of her and pulled his breeches up. He looked away when she turned to look at him but she just catches the way his eyes glisten slightly before he does.

_He’s…he’s crying?_

She realised then that she had done it all wrong, had said all the wrong things that had made him believe that she was marrying him out of duty alone. He had played this game of seduction to spark her desire, a desire for him and a life they could have together thinking it was all he could offer her. And while duty had been part of her decision, admittedly the main part, she had always hoped she could learn to love her husband like mother and father had learned to love each other and the fact that it was Jon she was marrying did not change that wish.

But Jon had every reason to believe that she had no wish for the marriage given her careless words and he believed the best way, the only way of making this any good for her was to seduce her and show her just what he could do with those fingers, that mouth and his cock. To distract her from the fact she would feel trapped in their marriage, he was striving to find and give any pleasure he could to her. And while Sansa appreciated the fact he was doing what he felt he needed to do to make her happy in their marriage, she _wants_ to love him.

But Jon left before she can say anything. But she knows she has to set him straight. It has been fun, this little game but she wants to know what could be if they allowed the chance of love to grow between them.

So, when he comes to her chambers a few nights later, acting as though the sept incident never happened, she stood from her table and squared her shoulders. Jon stopped himself in the doorway, blindly pushing the door shut with his hand behind him as he stared at her.

“I want you,” she stated simply, watching as his lips curve into a smirk and she realised he thought she was still playing his games. She waited for him to start approaching, her eyes never leaving his as she continued. “I want you…my King, my equal …Jon.”

He stopped, eyes wide as he searched her face and she forced herself not to look away, to let him see that she wanted to be his in every possible way. That he was worthy of her, her hand and her heart if he wanted to be.

“Sansa,” he breathed, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek.

“I want to love you,” she said softly. “I want to love my Lord husband and for him to love me. It is my dearest wish but I want to have that with you, not some southern lord, just you.”

“Then I will be your Lord husband and I will strive to earn your love,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss to her lips. “But you, my Lady wife, already have mine.”


End file.
